


Can I Put It Into Words?

by mormoriarty



Series: And Then I Read What You Had Written [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Love, Love Letters, M/M, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-13
Updated: 2013-02-13
Packaged: 2017-11-29 04:45:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/682933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mormoriarty/pseuds/mormoriarty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Valentine's Day, neon Post-It notes, sappy love poems, and a lovely surprise at the end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Can I Put It Into Words?

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Valentine's Day, my readers ♡
> 
> Italics is Sherlock's writing, and line breaks and numbers indicate separate notes. And as always, comments are really appreciated- as critique and/or support ;)

Sherlock was writing a love letter.

 

Yes, you read that correctly.

 

Sherlock was writing a love letter, which so far stated only, penned in his messy scrawl: _Dear_ _John._

 _Dear John_ at the top of one neon pink Post-It note since Sherlock couldn’t find any other form of proper stationary. Unconventional, but it would do.

Sherlock had an assortment of the bright sticky notes spread out in front of him, all ready for, as he would say, “unnecessarily eloquent words”. And he had the rest of the letter all planned out- well, it was all in his head at least.

 _Dear John,_ _Happy Valentine’s Day._

_You know who this is from. No, don’t wake me yet, if I am next to you. You’ll find out soon enough._

_John, you know you mean the world to me,_ he wrote, the script quite small. _That is, you are basically my whole world. Besides the work. But it is somewhat difficult to put my feelings into words- yes, I do sometimes stay silent, but it is quite a bit harder to put it, to put my love for you into writing._

 _Like the way that the ocean waves refuse to stop kissing the shoreline, no matter how many times it is sent away, I could never leave you (and feel completely right). I did once leave you, and I might regret that entire thing if still to this day it did not provide us an opportunity- to stay alive, and stay together._ He tapped the pen against his lip. _You will never know how sorry I was about everything, and how horrible it was to have to watch you suffer from afar and not be able to comfort you._

Stop- he was going off one a tangent.

_But I have been back, welcomed (eventually) home with your forgiveness and your affection as we have gotten to know one another much better and more intimately. Thank you. I love you so much, John._

_Each one of these notes is numbered one through ten- please collect them all and read them in order. Maybe sit in your armchair after making a cup of tea. Perhaps you could also make a rather loud noise by the time you’ve reached the eighth note? That would be helpful._

_I hope I can show you how I feel, John, through these ten poems- one for each month we’ve been together. I do warn you, I am no poet- but I’ll try. But can I really put it into words?_

\--------

1.

He switched to another Post-It note, this one’s hue a nearly blinding shade of neon green. A little honesty should do the trick: _Now I am no poet, but according to my sources, lovers send greeting cards on Saint Valentine’s Day, often complete with a romantic poem on its interior?_

_Well, here goes:_

_Eyes of blue_

_The sweetest hue_

_For my darling you_

_Melt my heart to goo_

That was absolutely horrible.

But Sherlock had thought he might write at least ten of them, one for each month that he and John had been together, so he had best keep this one and move on. Perhaps John would find this somewhat cute, as it was about the colour of his eyes- and they were beautiful.

_Sorry, that was rather gushy, wasn’t it? But really, my darling, you have beautiful eyes._

\-------

2.

Now a blue Post-it:

_You shot that cabbie indoors_

_With nary a loud roar_

_And then I knew I was yours_

_For you, I do adore_

 

Not quite as bad, he admitted to himself.

And Sherlock had always thought of that moment (well, its aftermath) to be exactly when he had fallen in love with John Watson. After that, little things kept falling into place and he had fallen even harder for the army doctor.

John had known Sherlock for barely a day, but had quite easily shot a man dead for him. And yet he was free of guilt and completely able to walk away from the crime scene, laughing with Sherlock. But he was a doctor, a man of healing, and yet, he was so quick to kill, like he had been back in the battlefield with the enemy’s blood on his hands. His John would never stop being a mystery to him, always secrets to unravel, and wasn’t that just the ultimate match for a man like Sherlock Holmes?

_You should know that I have loved you since the moment you became a mystery for me- endlessly interesting, and now, entirely mine to love and cherish._

\-------

3.

_Now John, you know as well as I do that most of the time I do not get sentimental, but I suppose that if the world has decided to make out a holiday to celebrate the worship of the Christian saint Valentinus, then I can do the same._

_Just for you, John,_ Sherlock wrote on a yellow note.

 

_They say that you helped me to soften_

_When we kiss, you taste like tea quite often_

_You were once the bachelor and I the boffin_

_But I shall love you until I lie in my coffin_

Sherlock hoped that it seemed sweet instead of morbid with that bit about the coffin. Writing ten poems was actually getting to be quite difficult; rhyming was not his strong suit but this, this was just telling the truth.

He had become such a different man that who he had used to be; yes, much softer and possibly more sentimental, but more open (sometimes) and less guarded (usually). Lestrade had been right when he had said to John that he had changed Sherlock, for he had. For the better, most definitely.

_This one needs no explanation, I should hope._

_\-------_

4.

 _Did you know that_ _after_ _New Year's Day, the Feast of Saint Valentine is the most celebrated holiday around the world? Love is a universal emotion, I suppose. Here’s another:_

_Like a soft kiss to your scar_

_Like the moon to the bright stars_

_I may walk, but without you I will not go far_

_For my dear, this love is ours_

 

_I’ve promised you before, and I’ll say it again- I stay forever with you if you’ll have me. I can only hope that you will._

Sherlock remembered the first time he had seen John’s scar; the first night that they’d seen each other for real. Of course, he had thought John had looked as beautiful as ever that night, but John had been vulnerable and worried that Sherlock was going to suddenly cast him aside for something less marred. As if Sherlock wasn’t broken himself.

It was a weathered little spider-web of skin that marked where the bullet had left John’s body, right beneath his left clavicle. It was a wound, and yet Sherlock would have said it just made John more interesting. John had said it didn’t hurt anymore, it was actually a bit numb to the touch but his shoulder was still bad. And he had looked up at Sherlock, a question written upon his face:

Will you still have me?

 

Of course I will.

\-------

5.

_All these years may have taken their toll_

_But you’ve left an imprint on my soul_

_In my heart, you play the starring role_

_You are the other half that makes me whole_

This one summed it up quite nicely, actually.

After all, John was the one who had gotten under Sherlock’s skin and settled into his very bones, quickening his pulse and tugging his breath away. John had wriggled his way right into Sherlock’s well-trained mind till his thoughts were full to bursting, seeped into the air in his lungs and sat there until the only thing he could smell and taste was tea, and John. John. John. John. He had slipped, somehow, past all those barriers Sherlock had kept up over the years to isolate himself from stupidity, from people, from useless emotions. And he had made his way into Sherlock’s seemingly cold heart and sparked it back to life, helping him love again.

_I hope you feel the same way, my dear. At risk of sounding like a greeting card, I’ll say we go together like tea and cream- you really can’t have one without the other._

_Sorry, bad analogy. Forgive me._

_\-------_

6.

_The chemical formula for water is 2H plus O_

_That endearing way you clutch your pillow_

_If you stay, I’ll catch your typos_

_Into the darkness, you I will follow_

_Uh- I’ll admit I had some trouble with this one._

_\-------_

7.

_I hope time never pulls us apart_

_But darling, you can take me back to the start_

_And much as I’d like to give you a part_

_I think that you already hold my heart_

And hold it right in his hands, he did. There were times when Sherlock couldn’t help but feel so unsure, so insecure, the feeling of always seeking approval and love and having to depend so much on John; the man who patched him up, who took care of him, and who loved him. And yet the feeling must have been mutual for John, as he relied heavily on him too, always looking towards Sherlock for reassurance and strength. Sherlock had walled up his heart on purpose, all those years, and what for? Definitely not so that he could feel anxious now. He could do this, he could love John. They could stay together forever- and he needn’t run away because while he could protect John, John could also protect him too.

_You do, and I think you’ve known it for ages. I hope I have yours. We’ll protect each other and our hearts, won’t we, John?_

_\-------_

8.

_I think I’ll never grow tired of this_

_So just give me a kiss_

_Like you’re on my list_

_For this is paradise, this is bliss_

_This one sounds ridiculously like a pop song’s chorus, does it not?_

_But I do love to kiss you._

_\-------_

9.

_I thought I could never love, never learn_

_Bottled-up feelings always made my stomach churn_

_But you taught me, you stayed, you were stubborn_

_Now it is for you with every fibre of my being I yearn_

And was Sherlock ever so thankful that John had said yes (well, “Oh God, yes”) that day he had decided to move in, accompanying him to the crime scene and becoming a part of his life. Because ever-so-slowly, John had made his rightful place in Sherlock’s heart; accustoming him to living with another, to appreciative comments on his deductions, to toast in the mornings and tea in the evenings, to a mate by his side, to loving almost unconditionally. And while they did fight ( _oh God_ , did they), Sherlock liked to think it made them stronger, getting over the rough patches together and better than ever.

_I think that one was rather good._

He numbered each of the papers one through nine. Besides the very first one (which was unnumbered and would go on top of the nightstand to be the first thing John saw in the morning) Sherlock decided to put up of the Post-It notes, sticking them in and on places where John would easily come across them- attached to the mirror in the loo, the kitchen cabinets, the refrigerator, etc. And he would post one on the morning paper too, when it came on the day of. 

_Hopefully right now I am sitting before you, watching as you read this. I hope you’ve enjoyed these poems; maybe they’ve brought a nostalgic smile to your face as you remember happy times, or maybe they’ve even made you laugh. Look up at me, and then go ahead and read the last poem. I love you, John._

And Sherlock marked the very last note in the corner with a small number ten.

\-------

10.

_Happy Valentine’s Day, John._

_And lastly, here’s the most important poem:_

 

_Today, I shall make an important query_

_I will get down gently on one knee_

_For I do so love thee_

_John Watson, will you marry me?_

 

♡, 

SH

 


End file.
